Naoko was perched up precariously on the top end of the bed, one leg folded up beneath her and the other in front as she usually sat, dabbing away at the blank canvas in front of her, breathing life into it one steady stroke at a time. The painting began to take shape, as did the room around us, a steel blue memory on which sunlight was poured and tilted around, till it hits the floor, the bed, the table beyond in just the right way, swirling sundust in its wake, carving an orange splash on her soft skin.
She furrowed up her brow, tastefully considering the implication of an errant stroke on her painting, dipping her brush in her gloop of paint and working on fixing it with a steady hand. Patience was Naoko, a calm and deep sea within which krakens flailed restlessly. Does the wind ever know the turmoil of the sea in anguish? For all the storms it hurls at her, does the wind ever stop to think that the restlessness may be superficial, that beneath it all it 's the same sea - deep and calm and fierce. No, the wind is transient. Naoko was a sea wisp taking mortal shape in her blue room full of paintings, shining bright in sunlight, painting her waves on a bits of canvas always meant to be put together, yet never complete.
The soft beats of her music wafted through the air. Mellow. Like languid pulls on the strings of a lyre sending ripples through the vision of our sea. I painted too. Chaotic, rough at the edges, images never up to par. Did it matter if the orange fingers of the sunlight reaching through the window beckoned her away? Naoko is a sea wisp that embodies the free temperament of the sea. This room can only hold her temporarily. I feel the hot touch of Sunlight's fingers on my cheek and I turn to face her. The room is dark. Naoko's gone.The painting's up on the wall. I cannot see it with my eyes, but I know it's a picture of her waves crashing down. I am just another soul, lost in a room in her sea.
She furrowed up her brow, tastefully considering the implication of an errant stroke on her painting, dipping her brush in her gloop of paint and working on fixing it with a steady hand. Patience was Naoko, a calm and deep sea within which krakens flailed restlessly. Does the wind ever know the turmoil of the sea in anguish? For all the storms it hurls at her, does the wind ever stop to think that the restlessness may be superficial, that beneath it all it 's the same sea - deep and calm and fierce. No, the wind is transient. Naoko was a sea wisp taking mortal shape in her blue room full of paintings, shining bright in sunlight, painting her waves on a bits of canvas always meant to be put together, yet never complete.
The soft beats of her music wafted through the air. Mellow. Like languid pulls on the strings of a lyre sending ripples through the vision of our sea. I painted too. Chaotic, rough at the edges, images never up to par. Did it matter if the orange fingers of the sunlight reaching through the window beckoned her away? Naoko is a sea wisp that embodies the free temperament of the sea. This room can only hold her temporarily. I feel the hot touch of Sunlight's fingers on my cheek and I turn to face her. The room is dark. Naoko's gone.The painting's up on the wall. I cannot see it with my eyes, but I know it's a picture of her waves crashing down. I am just another soul, lost in a room in her sea.
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